


Knives, Cuddles, and Fabulous Hair

by Kiraly



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Bliss, Fluff, Multi, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:34:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8720995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiraly/pseuds/Kiraly
Summary: A few years down the road, Sigrun, Emil, and Reynir have found a way to make things work. But they all need a little reassurance now and then.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday gift for the amazing Jureeya, who does such beautiful art and is a wonderful human being to boot. I figured the least you deserve is a fluffy fic about your OT3 on your special day. Happy birthday Ju! <3
> 
> (People who aren't Jureeya: read the relationship tag carefully before proceeding, please!)

The apartment was spotless. Dinner simmered on the stove, adding the savory aroma of venison and vegetables to the scent of the bread he’d baked earlier. He’d put clean sheets on the bed, brushed and re-braided his hair, and studied his Norwegian. Which meant Reynir had nothing left to do but worry.

He knew he shouldn’t. They’d been late countless times in the three years he’d lived in Dalsnes, and there was always a good reason for it. There would be one this time, too. So he sat on the edge of the couch and pulled out his knitting, hoping to lose himself in the intricate colorwork on Emil’s hat. It didn’t work, though—he’d only managed to knit a few stitches when he heard the sound of boots on the front steps. By the time they arrived at the door, he was there to open it.

“We’re  _ fine,”  _ Sigrun said, pushing him gently aside so she could get through the door. Her other arm was full of Emil, who sagged against her shoulder and stumbled over the rug on the way inside. “We had a long fight today, that’s all.” She headed toward the living room, leaving Reynir to close the door.

“Are you hungry?” Reynir asked, already on his way to the kitchen.

“Starving!” Sigrun called back. “You might have to prop Emil up while he eats his though, he keeps trying to fall asleep on me.”

When Reynir entered the living room with three steaming bowls, he found Sigrun and Emil slumped on the couch. “Any space on there for me?” The words came out light, but he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone—or at least not Sigrun, who gave him a tired grin and shoved Emil to get him to sit up.

“Get in here, Freckles. You look like you could use a cuddle.” She made space for him to squeeze in between them, grabbing one of the bowls to keep him from spilling it. Emil took the other bowl the second time Reynir offered it; his eyes kept closing, but he managed to get the spoon to his mouth. 

“So what happened?”

“It  _ was  _ a quiet day,” Sigrun said between bites, “but then we had  _ two  _ giants at the end. We got ‘em—couple injuries, but nothing on either of us. Had to spend almost an hour scrubbing guts out of our little Viking’s hair though. That’s why we’re so late.” She went back to inhaling her food.

Reynir sighed and turned to Emil. Sigrun usually gave the kinds of details he liked, but when she was hungry she stuck to the bare bones of the story in favor of stuffing her face. Luckily, he had another source. “And why are you so tired?” he asked.

Emil swallowed. “One of the giants chased me for a couple kilometers before we killed it,” he mumbled. “Got separated from the group.”

“What?!” Reynir stared at Sigrun in horror. She slurped her soup and stared back. “He could have been killed!”

“Don’t worry, ‘m fine. Just need to sleep.” Emil put his bowl in Reynir’s hands—not completely empty, but as tired as he was it was probably the best he could do—and rested his head on Reynir’s shoulder. Reynir set the bowl aside and wrapped an arm around him.

“You know I can’t help worrying,” he said, running his fingers through Emil’s still-damp hair. “I wish I could be out there with you.”

“You are, though,” Sigrun said. She’d taken up Emil’s half-empty bowl to replace her empty one, but she dropped her spoon to pull the necklace out from under her tunic. The rune carved into the wooden pendant glowed faintly. “You’re always with us.” She leaned close to press a kiss against his jaw. Emil murmured his agreement and left his own kiss on the side of Reynir’s neck.

“But I don’t stab trolls, or let them chase me to keep other people safe—”

“No, you don’t.” It was Emil who spoke this time, rousing from his doze and lifting his head from Reynir’s shoulder. “You also don’t wear yourself out pulling stupid stunts. You stay here and make sure we have something to come home to. Some _ one. _ ” He slung his legs over the arm of the couch and laid his head on Reynir’s lap. “And you’re a good pillow. Cozy.”

Reynir laughed and dropped his hand to stroke Emil’s hair. “I guess you’re right. And hey, speaking of cozy, I worked on your hat today. I  _ think  _ I can get it to repel the rain. Maybe even troll guts.”

“See? Protective runes  _ and  _ dinner on the table every night,” Sigrun said. She tugged on his braid until his head rested on her shoulder, then draped her arm around him. Her other hand joined his in Emil’s hair. “Pretty sweet deal for us, really.”

“If you say so,” Reynir said. He could feel his own eyelids drooping—with the warm weight of Emil’s head in his lap and Sigrun pressed against his side, all the tension drained out of him. “Wouldn’t be any good if you weren’t there to stop the trolls, though.”

“Well, we’re a team. That’s how it works.” Sigrun’s breath ruffled his hair. “I bring the knives, you bring the cuddles, and Emil—”

“...brings fabulous hair,” came a sleepy murmur from Reynir’s lap.

This time, the laugh spread to all three of them. “When you put it that way,” Reynir said, “I guess we have everything we need.”

 


End file.
